


Tale of the Champion

by FalinMede



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2018-01-23
Packaged: 2019-02-17 10:21:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13074840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FalinMede/pseuds/FalinMede
Summary: Erissa Hawke left home at 15, her intent an apprenticeship. After a decade she finds herself escaping the hoard and Ostagar, her emotions warring in her as is only to arrive in Kirkwall, facing an even greater adventure, one that will change her as well as all of Thedas. For better or worse, well, that remains to be seen.





	1. Prolouge: Darkest Hour

**Author's Note:**

> Possible Spoilers: The world state around Erissa and my canon Dragon Age Origins/Dragon Age 2 are as follows:  
> Honor Cousland who marries and raises Alistair as King and becomes Queen. She had all her companions and made lasting friendships (mostly because I cannot be mean to any Dragon Age companions)  
> Honor resents the Wardens but will act in league with them only when it lines up with Ferelden's interests. (Did Awakening first) She went into Awakening pregnant and not knowing and the babe, delivered not too long after the events of Witch Hunt but before she vanished, is currently in hiding, under the care of her elder brother at the family estate.  
> Honor ended the werewolf curse, sided with the mages, saved Conner and Isolde, and crowned Bhelen reluctantly.  
> Ok, hopefully that doesn't ruin anything but that's my canon as it stands. Any questions, feel free to ask questions if need be.

_She bowed over her bowl of stew, her  body a map of scrapes and bruises and tiny scratches that wrote a story of the trouble she usually found herself in. She could see the exhaustion on both her parents' faces as they sat across from her, idling over their dinner. The table was silent, the air only disturbed by the twins eating their meal excitedly, completely unaware of the tension in their father's shoulders. His face was pinched with sickness, the bags under his eyes more and more pronounced with every day that passed. He needed rest and refused, dragging his body out to work each morning and sometimes not making it back without the help of neighbors hauling him back. Erissa looked next to her mother, trying not to feel further annoyance. Her mind was awash with what ifs. What if she hadn't gone out hunting? What if she hadn't rooted through the neighbors' gardens, taking the shriveled and pathetic excuses for vegetables they wouldn't miss? What if she hadn't waited for the tavern keeper to throw out the burned or stale loaves of bread? The answers were easy. Her family would be eating water. Hot water but water nonetheless._  
_“The teyrn is passing through soon. On his way to Denerim,” she announced._  
_She was careful. Her voice was neutral, as if she was just addressing the dismal weather. The downpour was awful. Beneath her chair, gnawing on a hard piece of bread was her mabari, Rabbit. Not the best name for a fearsome mabari but the best she could do for when she'd gotten the loyal beast. He seemed to sense something off about her mood, shifting slightly._  
_“That's nice,” Malcolm remarked, not caring at all it seemed._  
_His voice was just as tired as he looked. Erissa bit her lip, weighing her options._  
_“I hear they're offering apprenticeships,” she continued, deciding the consequences were worth it. “I could-”_  
_“No.”_  
_Leandra's voice was firm and her denial was fast. Erissa narrowed her eyes a bit, frustrated._  
_“Mother, please. I-”_  
_“I said no Erissa!” Leandra declared._  
_She set her spoon down, firmly._  
_“We could move to Denerim!” Erissa insisted. “There's much better protection there. More opportunities for work!”_  
_“No job is worth putting my child's life at risk,” Leandra declared._  
_“Leandra. Erissa,” Malcolm tried speaking up before falling into a coughing fit._  
_Normally that reminder, her father's failing health cooled her and she and her mother reconciled, uniting to tend the twins and her father. But Erissa couldn't bear the thought of her dream slipping further away._  
_“I'm going,” she declared._  
_Leandra had hurried to her husband, lifting his water to his lips, helping him drink. But she turned betrayed eyes on her daughter, surprised at her insistence. Erissa stood straight, hiding her shaking by curling her fists._  
_“Even an apprenticeship would provide us an income of sorts. Meager, yes, but one that could help us.”_  
_“Erissa, you are nobility!” Leandra objected again._  
_“I am not!” Erissa threw back._  
_She spread her arms wide, indicating their surroundings. The meek shack had been home for so long. She loved the whispers of laughter it held, of familial warmth. She loved Lothering. But now, it was stifling her, a reminder of what she would live with forever if she didn't act now._  
_“We live in poverty. We barely have enough for food most nights. Father cannot afford a healer and we cannot afford clothes that fit!” she pointed out, her last point bringing attention to the fact that she was wearing a tightly secured pair of Malcolm's pants._  
_She had little time for Leandra's dresses after all._  
_“Mother, please. Please understand,” she begged._  
_Leandra stared at her, her eyes holding hurt and sadness. Never before had her daughter expressed her dissatisfaction with the life they lived. She stared long and hard, tempted to give in. To say yes. To send her child of only 15 years off to play war._  
_“No, Erissa.”_  
_The words were like a slap. Erissa's eyes widened in surprise,a fist around her heart that clenched harder as she stared at her parents. Bethany and Carver were deathly silent. Despite Erissa's statuesque posture, Leandra reclaimed her seat, Malcolm's fit subsided. She picked up her spoon, dipping it into her stew, certain her daughter would rejoin them in a moment. To her surprise, Erissa turned on her heel, storming into her room, shoving aside the curtain that served as a door. A few minutes later she returned, her daggers secure in the harness on her back._  
_“Where are you going?” Leandra demanded, rising again as Erissa made for the door, her dog on her heels now that she indicated she was leaving._  
_“If I leave, I can catch up to the teyrn's party,” Erissa replied._  
_She opened the door, keeping it open even as Leandra threw her body against it._  
_“Erissa, I said-”_  
_“You have said a lot of things, Mother,” Erissa replied calmly._  
_She gave a sharp whistle and Rabbit trotted out the door. And behind him went Erissa, the two breaking into a run and disappearing into the wet night._  
  
  
_She was soaked, her hair clinging to her face. But she had managed to push through the night, heading to Denerim and catching up to the envoy. And yes, she'd ended up with swords in her face, subdued by the guard that flanked him. To be fair, emerging from the heavy rain armed and alongside a mabari may have not been the way to go, especially since Rabbit had tried snapping at one of the guards. She had grabbed for the rope he wore as a collar, holding him back barely._  
_“Please! I'm not a threat!” she insisted._  
_How they thought she was was laughable. Her clothes were too big and that of a man. She was scrawny, years of malnourishment taking its tole on her. But, she supposed, caution was better when guarding a hero such as the teyrn, who was currently dismounting his horse, his form towering, carrying himself with dignity._  
_“My lord,” said the young woman who'd been the first to spot Erissa._  
_She seemed surprised that he'd bothered approach but nonetheless fell silent when he held up a hand. Erissa gulped. She'd heard the tales, the stories, hungry for a hero in the world of a small farming village. She'd approached too many traveling merchants to count, hungry for news from Denerim. And they'd indulged her, painting clear pictures of the king himself, the queen and Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir. With the company he kept, she couldn't help staring, her mind going blank for a heartbeat before Rabbit's sharp bark brought her back,reminding her what her goal had been, venturing out into the storm and running alongside the roads like a madwoman._  
_“Teyrn Loghain!” Erissa hurriedly said, not giving the man a chance to speak really._  
_She wanted to say her piece, to pour out her soul before he made a decision based on looks alone._  
_“My name is Erissa Hawke of Lothering!” she blurted out. “I heard of your latest travels to return once more to Denerim and sought you out to request enlistment! I'm skilled with daggers and traps. All my life I've grown up hearing stories of you and the king reclaiming the throne and could think of no other man I'd want to lend my blade to.”_  
_She bowed her head, her movements surprising his guard, probably as much as her words. Her gaze meanwhile was on the muddy road beneath her, the only thing she could think to stare at that didn't open the flood gates of her chaotic mind._  
_“Please, accept me.”_  
_She heard the squelch of mud beneath feet, shivering when an armored boot stopped before her. She didn't dare look up, curiosity burning a hole in her gut._  
_“Lift your head.”_  
_His voice was compelling, regal, a man who knew his power. And she lifted it, staring into his face full on. It was intimidating. He considered her face, his dark gaze scanning her features._  
_“How old are you, Erissa Hawke?” he inquired, an eyebrow rising._  
_Her mouth opened, the truth on her lips. The truth being that she was a 15 year old whelp, a child really, seeking him out in the middle of the night. No real use to him now that she considered her options._  
_“18,” she said quickly, the lie sliding over her tongue easily._  
_She saw his brow furrow, no doubt sensing her lie._  
_“My family often couldn't afford substantial food,” Erissa persisted. “As a result, I haven't had a chance, as it were, to grow and really mature.”_  
_The lies were easy enough to tell, weaving together in a tapestry all their own. She saw the young woman look to Loghain, convinced of Erissa's truth it seemed. Loghain considered her a few moments longer, his furrowed brow easing and a look of bemusement settling on his face._  
_“Well then, Erissa Hawke of Lothering, what's say we give you a chance to do just that then?”_  
  
  
  
The screaming started almost instantly. She stared into all that chaos, watching the smoke rise and watching men fall in an instant. Part of her wanted to look away. She didn't, the hand tightly clenched around hers keeping her grounded. Her heart beat faster though and her mind was off the battle field, traveling mere miles to Lothering. To Mother and Bethany, sitting helpless, unaware of the hoard's size and the sheer force of it. She looked at Carver. He was as pale as she was, trying to play it off that he wasn't scared. Yet he clenched her hand for all it was worth because she was the only thing that made sense. She glanced next at her dog, the mabari panting beside her, held only because she hadn't directed him forward. Her gaze went now to Loghain. She didn't want it to, didn't want to look at him at all in fact, finishing up her service to him and transferring to the King's army or even his private guard to avoid her lordship. And yet in uncertainty she looked to him only to end up gazing at his back.  
“There's the signal!” Cauthrien announced and she was right.  
The signal fire was lit. Erissa felt Carver's hand slip away, felt him ready himself. She supposed she should draw her daggers,a feat she seemed incapable of. Her attention kept going back to Loghain's broad shoulders, willing him to turn. To look at her.  
'Look at me!' she urged, wishing for the magic to compel him.  
Magic she didn't have. Or she did. He turned to Cauthrien and his gaze, for the quickest of seconds, flashed to her, before flashing back to Cauthrien. It wasn't enough. Erissa reached for her daggers, one hand at a time, her right curling around the worn dagger's hilt, relishing the familiar on this chaotic battlefield. She was scared, terrified enough to contemplate turning and running now. And yet that familiar grip of worn leather grounded her.  
“Fall back!” Loghain commanded.  
“What?”  
Cauthrien's tone was surprised; surprised at herself for questioning her superior's orders. Surprise at him for issuing those orders. Loghain fixed her with a look and she nodded, remembering her place, turning her attention on the army that stood ready.  
“Fall back!” she called to the waiting troops.  
There was confusion,a bit of outrage as well. Eclipsing all that was relief and trust, the army falling back, the order passing through the ranks, ushered on many lips. In the midst of all that, even as her brothers in arms pulled away, was Erissa, a death grip on her mabari and Carver at her side. He was looking at her confused, wondering why she wasn't moving. She was blind to her brother, even when he grabbed her wrist. Her amber gaze was fixated on Loghain and when he turned, his stern gaze found her instantly and softened, a mix of regret and relief. He broke away from Cauthrien, approaching her directly, nudging her along and she moved with him, in step, swarmed by his men.  
“You're torn,” he said, his voice low.  
He fixed his gaze on her.  
“No,” Erissa declared. “I need to be here. I need-”  
“Go.”  
He had retreated again, his emotions closed to her. The blank look he gave her destroyed her faster than any harsh word.  
“Both of you are dismissed. Return home.”  
“You are my home!” Erissa wanted to yell.  
She wanted to grab him, hold his arm until he took his words back. Until he looked her way again without that cold detachment. Her heart clenched, shattering ever so slightly. And then she took a step away from his side, grabbing Carver's hand as she ran, releasing her dog so she didn't strangle him in her hurried escape. She channeled Loghain's teachings, his taught detachment her best ally as she closed herself to the hurt and anger his rejection left her with, her goal the horse she'd abandoned for the front lines. Carver was objecting, running his mouth as usual so later he could claim he was dragged against his will, but she ignored him, knowing he was perfectly capable of breaking her grip. He didn't because he was just as scared and just as relieved as she was, even if he wasn't as broken as she was.  
  
  
The decision was made. She knew better than to relax, jogging across the barren earth, in the slim hopes of leading her family away from the hoard of darkspawn that she, Carver and Rabbit had only barely beaten to Lothering. She admittedly had ached, returning to Lothering after so long. It hadn't changed one bit, still full of people, the majority of which were terrified of the looming Blight yet still managed to recognize her and wave. Or else that was for Carver who had since started moving on his own. She knew going home would hurt, stepping into the same small shack she'd left almost a decade ago. Malcolm's absence had hurt, missing his passing bad enough. Missing his funeral adding to the ache. The guilt was what had stopped her from waving off Leandra's hug, not wanting to insist she was wasting precious time. She'd even hugged Bethany, her grip tighter than it had been when she'd wrapped her arms around her own mother. Her sister had grown into a beautiful young girl and Erissa envied her just a bit, telling herself it was because of her sister's magic and connection to their father. And then it had been time to go, fleeing the village despite their mother's insistence they sit and enjoy a meal. That the army would stop the hoard. She didn't have the heart to tell her mother that the army stood no chance, that Loghain had left Ostagar. That the hoard was, without a single doubt, coming for Lothering. She'd merely taken the woman's hand and dragged her along. If she was wrong, fine. She'd make her amends, apologize. But since she'd known she was right- The sound of fighting ahead caught her attention and her sense of awareness came back. She gave a whistle, a signal to Rabbit, ensuring the dog would stay behind with Leandra, charging forward into the darkspawn that had gathered around two not so lucky warriors. Carver was on her heels, swinging high as she ducked low, one dagger slicing through armor while the other warded off shots aimed at Carver who cleaved his large sword. What darkspawn they missed went up in flames, Bethany proving to be a proficient mage. Erissa dodged a swinging sword, twirling out of Carver's way and leaving the heavy lifting to him. Whatever rivalry they had off the battlefield was not enough to deter the partnership they'd established on the field. It did not take them long to dispatch the darkspawn, the red headed warrior as proficient as they were. Erissa sheathed her daggers, giving Carver a teasing smirk that he undoubtedly would know translated to a playful criticism, a joke each time about him getting slow. He knew he wasn't. Face to face and safe for the moment, Erissa studied the pair they'd saved as they studied her family. Her blood ran cold at the Templar insignia displayed on the male's chest, stepping in front of Bethany quickly.  
“Apostate,” the Templar startled. “Keep your distance!”  
“Well the Maker has a sense of humor,” Bethany huffed, a bit of temper that Erissa didn't know she had showing through. “Darkspawn and now a Templar? I thought they all abandoned Lothering.”  
“What a fun time that must have been for you,” Erissa remarked dryly.  
Her attention was solely on the Templar, her gaze never leaving him. Just in case.  
“The spawn are clear in their intent. But a mage is an unknown,” the Templar proclaimed. “The Order dictates-”  
Erissa tried not to match Rabbit's growl, tensing ever so slightly.  
“Wesley,” sighed the female warrior, giving her head a shake.  
“That woman is an apostate. The Order dictates-” Wesley repeated stepping forth.  
“The Order dictates I punch your balls into your throat,” Erissa wanted to say, choosing to physically step forward to meet him instead, her intent hopefully in her amber gaze.  
“Dear, they saved us,” the warrior reminded him, her voice gentle and compelling. “The Maker understands.”  
Erissa was too busy glaring into Wesley's eyes to glance her way, hoping Carver would have the sense to cover her. Rabbit's growl was low but rising in volume, no doubt his jaws gathering slobber as he waited to see where the situation was headed.  
“Of course,” Wesley relented after a very pregnant pause, backing off.  
“I'm Aveline Vallen,” the warrior said, drawing Erissa's attention to her.  
Wesley's retreat had eased the tension a bit, Erissa willing now to look at her.  
“This is my husband, Ser Wesley. We can hate each other when we're safe from the hoard,” Aveline bargained.  
“A strange time to be hunting apostates,” Erissa commented.  
“I was traveling to Denerim on business for the Order but I had to turn South when I heard of Ostagar.”  
Erissa bit her lip, pretending the mere mention of not just the battle and lost lives but her humiliating dismissal were nothing to her.  
“Bad luck-and judgment- brought us together here before the attack,” Aveline piped up, casting a glance Wesley's way.  
Erissa made a sound of acknowledgment, mostly in the back of her throat.  
“Perhaps it best we keep moving then,” she suggested. “Before any of that bad luck descends on us.”  
Her words were met with disgruntled faces from Aveline and Wesley and no doubt Carver but no one objected.  
“Which way are we moving?” Erissa inquired, mostly of Aveline.  
She had more than enough confidence that the woman could handle herself. And a perspective shaped by what was ahead would work nicely in their favor.  
“To the South,” Aveline replied, clearly intending to say more.  
“The Wilds are to the South!” Carver cut in with his objection. “That's no way out.”  
She didn't roll her eyes. Points to her. Carver had spent far too much time around other men in the army. They'd filled his head with more stories and silly superstitions as well as reinforced their mother's old tales of caution.  
“If my options are South or die, I'll take my chances with the South,” Erissa declared.  
  
Erissa was different. Bethany could only stare at her sister's back, the swinging braid drawing her attention. If she stared long enough, pretended hard enough, she could almost imagine they weren't running for their lives away from monsters. She could see the dark bags under Carver and Erissa's eyes, the haunted look they shared with Aveline. Whatever had happened at Ostagar rode them. Erissa in particular was weighed down, her emotions boiling under the surface. And she was suppressing them, something she'd done until the very night she'd left. Whatever the source of those emotions, they'd brought her back to Lothering, to her family. She couldn't imagine dragging Mother away from home, especially not when home meant Father's grave. She couldn't imagine trying, knowing she'd use her words rather than dragging their mother into gear as Erissa had done. She felt safer, despite the big fuss that somehow she was an unknown, following her sister's footsteps, stopping occasionally to fight darkspawn or so Erissa could check their position, making certain they were headed South. To the Korcari Wilds, the place their mother had lectured and reminded them about when they went out to play, drawing out promises from each of them that they wouldn't step foot inside. She almost smiled at the irony, that they very place they'd been cautioned to avoid when they went traipsing off on adventures that sometimes lasted days was the one place that could potentially be their salvation.  
  
  
She should've let Carver lead. He may have been brash but he was far more clearheaded than she. Her gaze kept being drawn to the smoke in the distance. It was Ostagar. It was Lothering. It was the hoard, coming after them and coming fast. They were an almost unstoppable wave and her confidence was vastly undermined. She stopped again, her eyes tracing the sky.    
'Why did he dismiss me?' a voice inside asked.  
A voice that was her. A nagging doubt over Loghain's dismissal. A haunted feeling that she could've taken that dismissal and charged straight into the battle. She was one soldier, yes, but perhaps her actions could've inspired others. Could've turned the tide. Something! And she'd run. She'd been selfish, dragging Carver without giving him a choice to do with his dismissal what he wished. And she'd done it without a second thought. She shook her head, clearing it. She had more pressing matters. The Wilds, the pockets of darkspawn. And Wesley. Yes, she'd gotten the chance to interact with other Templar. She knew that not all apostates were like her father and Bethany and that not all Templar were like the ones her father spoke of. Or her mother. But the rules had changed, especially since Bethany was here and had exposed her magic use. Could she trust him not to say anything? Or perhaps attribute her magic use to a fever as he looked increasingly unwell? As a last resort, she was even willing to kill them, when they'd outlived their use. She didn't' want to so indiscriminately take lives if it could be avoided but she would if needed.  
“Erissa!” Carver's voice rang out.  
She was pulled from her thoughts, her gaze now on a charging ogre, its heavy frame thundering towards them. She scurried out of its path, glad to see that her party had the sense to as well. Rabbit barked his alarm, the ogre sending him for Erissa and away from Leandra who had followed Carver's lead. Unfortunately, the ogre's roar was followed by a sudden fascination with the two. Erissa slid to a stop as best she could, the sudden cease in her movement making her stumble. Her heart beat increased, her body moving as if wading through waist high mud as she disregarded Rabbit, ignored Bethany calling to her, deaf to everything as her heart beat reached her ears. Carver surged forward, his blade hitting armor. The ogre growled, its teeth as black as the pits it had come from, its huge hand scooping up her little brother. Fear blossomed in her chest, cutting through the adrenaline and panic, cooling a fire in her belly she didn't know was there. She opened her mouth to scream or roar. And found she couldn't hear anything. Her screams would've been useless however as the ogre raised her younger brother over its head, slamming his body into the ground. Once. She was almost there, could see Carver struggle. Twice. The blood was too red, too disturbingly red. And Carver groaned aloud, pain clear in his voice as he lost his sword right before the ogre discarded him in the dirt, his body limp and bleeding as Leandra hit her knees next to him.  
'Mother will save him,' she reasoned, her hands drawing her daggers. 'Mother can save him.'  
It was an old childish thought, one she relied on often, forgetting for a second that more often than not, it was Malcolm who saved them. Not Leandra.


	2. Chapter 2

If she woke up fast enough, she could imagine the reek of Lowtown gone. Could pretend for a second that the elbow in her rib was a result of Carver squeezing his way into their bed to try and bribe Bethany into telling him all about what Father had taught her. And when that didn't work, he'd bully her. And Erissa would roll over, whacking him with the sad excuse for a pillow. In turn, he'd steal Bethany's, whacking her back until they dissolved into fits of laughter, hay from the pillows flying everywhere. If Rabbit managed to get there before Malcolm or Leandra, there was no stopping the mess. Rolling over now, Erissa tossed her hair over her shoulder, only to find Bethany squeezing closer, her younger sister's elbow digging into her in an attempt to shift away from Leandra. Their mother had always been a rather inconsiderate bed mate. A year in a smelly hobble like Gamlen's Lowtown home did not change that. Erissa sighed, careful as she crawled out of bed, letting her hands hit the floor first and slowly easing her body down. She ignored Rabbit who lifted his head, looking at her hands and making a face. Never mind that she and Bethany had taken it upon themselves the day before to haul water all the way from the harbor, where it was easiest to collect it, and scrubbed the house from top to bottom. For a little while, it had been clean. Leandra had even convinced Gamlen to bathe. It had improved the mood of the household a great deal. And they'd gone to bed in good moods. While she was clean, the fact that dirt had settled so easily into the house once more had soured her mood. Erissa rose, brushing her dirty hands off on her shirt, heading out of her room and bringing Rabbit with her. Gamlen was already up and he waited for her to close the door before he began his daily grouching.   
“A letter came for you,” he griped.  
No doubt mad because said letter hadn't contained a scrap of coin for him to ferret away. Erissa made a noncommittal sound of acknowledgment, hoping the lack of answer would sour him into sulking. No such luck just yet.   
“You had a good thing going with Athenril,” Gamlen continued.  
Erissa sat in one of the creaking chairs, Rabbit sitting at her feet, panting happily. Seemed he was in no rush to go out or eat that day. A good thing. Erissa was half certain the only thing in the house was that questionable cheese that may or may not have been in their room the whole first year.   
“I'm sure if you went back to talk with her, she'd let you work for her. On your terms, of course.”  
He said that rather snidely and Erissa didn't bother responding to that either, mentally counting the coin she'd stashed away in an impressively crafted lock box of Varric's. The dwarf, for how little they knew each other, had caught on to Gamlen's bad habits rather fast. While having the majority of her coin on hand would be convenient, she couldn't trust Gamlen not to spend it in the tavern. What she had actually on her person may be enough to buy them breakfast without her needing to go to Varric. He'd probably still be asleep. The dwarf and Isabela, while charming, were never ones to leave a party early. Thus, she had no doubt that both were still passed out in Varric's suite, dead to the world for the time being.   
“Erissa!”  
Gamlen's annoyed tone drew her from her thoughts and she lifted her head to look at him.  
“Yes, Uncle?” she asked.  
He harrumphed.  
“I suppose that answers my question,” he grouched.   
She bit back a smile, watching him ignore her now, as if to show her how it felt. Despite his faults, or perhaps because of them, she found she rather liked Gamlen. She felt a kinship that extended past blood. She could see hints of pain and weariness when he settled into a worn chair for the evening, listening to Leandra read from books Bethany or Erissa had brought her. He never seemed content, even in his own home. Erissa did not like that he felt this way, feeling the same way herself. But all the same, it hurt less knowing she was not alone. Gamlen crouched by the fire place now, fussing with what simmered there, stirring it back to life. Erissa rose from her chair, giving Rabbit an absentminded scratch behind the ears.   
“Uncle Gamlen, I'll head out and get breakfast,” she informed him.   
He grunted in response, still not pleased that she'd ignored him but the bribe of food was too good. Erissa only let her smile loose then, her back to him as she and Rabbit left. 

 

He felt no fear. He was no coward. Boiling inside him was merely rage, rage he'd suppressed for the sake of survival. Hidden amongst the filth, a fact he detested, he counted the hard earned gold in his palm. He had a good enough sum, to reach out, perhaps hire someone. He'd been in the city for weeks, heard the whispers. The price his old master was throwing about was impressive but did little to better the fact that he was a Tevinter magister. The whispers mostly spoke of the alienage and an increase in thuggish presence there as well as the hole known as Darktown. Hence why he'd mostly lurked around the Docks and Lowtown. Lowtown was where he was now, the smell revolting but better than the reek of fish. He rose from the rubbish around him, careful that his armor was hidden by the heavy cloak he'd absconded with. It showed signs of wear and tear, luckily not enough to worry he would need to replace it. Safely hidden, the hood pulled low over his eyes, he stepped out of the alley. The morning air was pleasant, save for the mentioned smell. He scanned his surroundings, taking not of the few people around. Many passed him, not caring enough to eye him back. They rubbed sleep from their eyes, trudging off to some thankless job they couldn't care less about. His stomach clenched, aching for food. His last meal had been a bowl of stew, not very good to taste given that he wasn't much of a cook. As he saw it, if he hoped to hold tight to the gold he had, he'd have to catch one of the rats that were always underfoot. As if summoned, one of the furry beasts turned the corner, charging for him, squeaking in fear as it hurried past. Thinking nothing of it, he kept moving, pondering whether or not he should have caught the distracted rat when something much larger blurred around the corner, tackling him with a good amount of force. He'd taken hits. Indeed, his own sword weighed a good amount. But surprise won out and he was soon sprawled on his back, one hand grabbing for his hood to keep it in place as the other shot up, warding off the slobbering tongue of ...a mabari?  
“Rabbit!”   
The voice was female, the owner appearing soon behind the dog, hauling him off by his collar. The beast whimpered in disappointment, a fact that went ignored by his owner as she set down the leather pack she carried, offering him a hand.   
“Apologies,” she insisted. “He gets away from me sometimes.”  
Against his better judgment, he accepted her hand,studying her closely. She pulled him rather easily to his feet, her muscles flexing as she did. She made a small sound of surprise, withdrawing her hand, her amber eyes going to her palm. His armored gauntlets had given her a small cut, the blood bubbling up.  
“Nifty armor you have there,” she remarked.   
She wiped her hand on her own clothes, the likes of which also appeared to be armor. They were clearly durable enough but not so weighted as to obstruct her movement. The mabari whined noticeable, his mouth closing around the strap of the set aside pack.   
“Rabbit,” the woman scolded.   
She sighed and brought that gaze of hers back to his.   
“Sorry. He was fine earlier but now that he's seen the food, he's starving.”  
At the mention of food, his stomach let out another growl, surprising this odd woman for a split second. She took it in stride, smiling, reaching into that pack of hers. He didn't intend to peek, curiosity winning out. He saw the bread at the direct top, looking away just as fast. Not that she'd noticed his envious gaze, fiddling with the rest of the bag's contents.  
“There we go,” she muttered, finally pulling a piece of bread out, cheese and what he hoped was meat layered between its halves.   
She offered it to him and he didn't think twice, accepting. Beside her, the dog let out a small woof, not pleased.   
“Oh hush, you hog,” she scolded him. “You can eat at home, with everyone else.”  
Now her attention was back on him.  
“I know its hard. Free Marchers don't take too kindly to Ferelden refugees, especially not now that the Blight is over,” she said, her tone gentle. “The worst thing you can do is neglect yourself. Go to the Hanged Man, they're always looking for help with the drunks. Tell them Erissa sent you, alright?”  
“Erissa?”  
“Oh, that's me,” she cleared up.  
It hit him then, watching her rearrange her pack. She thought he was Ferelden, probably a mentally addled one at that given the simplicity with which her instructions were issued. He didn't quite know how to react to that, instead choosing to watch her finish her arrangements and stand, slinging the bag over her shoulder.   
“Good luck,” she said to him and he sensed only truth in her words.  
He nodded, which seemed enough for her and she walked away, probably sensing he didn't want to talk much. He watched her go, holding the food she'd given him before ducking away to eat it. 

 

She was hundreds of miles away and yet it did no good. She could feel the weight of her staff, the hard ground beneath her worn shoes. The soles were going so fast. She pondered for the barest instance if maybe she should've followed Merrill's lead and gone barefoot.   
“Something on your mind?”  
Erissa of course would notice her distraction, glancing over her shoulder, checking that Bethany was still there. She always did, throwing glances over her shoulder even when they took heat working for Athenril. She couldn't count the number of times Erissa had ended up on her ass on one hand. Luckily, Erissa had enough scars to hazard an educated guess.   
“I'm fine,” she assured her sister, her face morphing into a gentle scolding one. “You need to spend less time worrying about me sometimes.”  
“I'm your older sister,” Erissa threw back. “Its my job to look out for you. Whether you like it or not.”  
Something she'd always said, mostly to Carver. Carver. He entered their minds at the same time, Erissa's smile faltering ever so slightly. Still a sore spot, even a year later. Perhaps because it wasn't too long after that they'd run into the Flemeth? Or perhaps because it was forever in repeat in their minds, each one wondering what she could've done differently?  
“What do you think Carver would make of Kirkwall?” Bethany asked quietly, choosing to poke the still open wound.  
She knew Erissa could handle it. That she could handle it. As opposed to Leandra who most certainly couldn't. She stared at her sister's backside, watching those fingers tugging on the ends of her dark braid, a nervous habit she'd never quite kicked.   
“He'd hate it,” Erissa finally declared.  
She lifted her face upwards, looking to the Maker.  
“Carver loved Ferelden, loved Lothering.”  
Her following sigh was mournful and longing all at once. She clearly was speaking from experience and Bethany smiled a bit, the only one of the three siblings who knew that Carver and Erissa shared more than stubbornness. Erissa had loved Ferelden. Still did. She'd adapt to Kirkwall, had in fact, but her heart would forever belong to Ferelden. Bethany picked up her pace, joining her sister at her side, intertwining their arms.   
“Alright, so this letter you mentioned.”  
She had woken that morning to the usual scene. Gamlen grouching at his table, eating a breakfast of more stale than not bread,cheese on the brink of molding and fresh meat that she would prefer remain a mystery, while Erissa went through letters either delivered in the dead of night or far too early in the morning to be polite. It was a comfortable routine although Bethany had noticed they were short some bread, cheese and meat though she did not comment. It kept them fed at least and there'd been enough left over for them to bundle up for delivery to Anders, healer extraordinaire and former Grey Warden. She felt bad for him now, knowing he still mourned his friend Karl. But she looked forward to his presence, looked forward to the lessons he gave her on healing. Less so his lectures on mage freedom, if only because it so vastly deviated from her life plan to remain a nameless apostate rather than a rebellion leader.   
“We have quite a few hours before we have to meet the dwarf,” Erissa assured her.   
“You know, Gamlen was talking about Athenril again,” Bethany chose a different topic.  
“No doubt he owes her money again,” Erissa sighed, sounding weary enough but also a bit amused.   
“He really must teach us his tricks,” Bethany insisted. “The man manages to scrape together just enough coin to lose it all and more on cards.”  
She looked pouty, her face flushed a bit in frustration. Erissa bit her lip to keep from laughing, knowing Bethany would lose her mind if she revealed that Gamlen's card money was supplied by Erissa herself, leaving the spare coin here and there for him to think he'd found.   
“Are the funds for the expedition still with Varric?” Bethany checked, clearly alarmed.  
“Yes, Bethany,” Erissa sighed. “Gamlen isn't stealing from us.”  
She shook her head.  
“Really. You always think the worst of him,” she scolded.   
Her voice had dropped in volume. They both knew better than to speak loudly, to draw attention to themselves, in Darktown, the glorified slum filled with a mix of good people in a bad situation and bad people looking to make their situations better.   
“Is it wise not to?” Bethany inquired quietly.   
It didn't take them too long to get to Anders. They knew what to look for now, after visiting the apostate multiple times.   
“Ah, he sleeps,” Erissa remarked as they pushed their way into the clinic.   
The door creaked, the last warning sign Anders had against the Templars if they decided to make an appearance. Of course, it was not serving its purpose, given that Anders was sprawled on one of the cots, his clinic for once empty. Erissa gave Bethany a wry look as they approached, standing over his sleeping form.   
“Perhaps we should start leaving Rabbit here?” Bethany suggested.  
“Rabbit does love Anders,” Erissa contemplated the suggestion aloud.   
“Shame Anders doesn't feel the same about Rabbit,” Bethany mused.  
Erissa smiled at that, reaching out to give Anders a shake.  
“Good morning,” she greeted, jumping back as he startled awake.  
Without meaning to, she'd guided Bethany back a bit. Just in case. Anders noticed, even if Bethany didn't and he sat up.  
“Morning,” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes.  
“We brought you breakfast!” Bethany announced.   
That perked him up, his stomach giving a small growl as Bethany set the bundled food in his lap, sitting beside him on the cot.  
“What's on the agenda today?” Anders asked.   
He looked up at Erissa, a small tired smile gracing his lips.   
“More aimless wandering?”   
She made a face his way.  
“Aimless wandering is fun,” she retorted.   
“If you pack a lunch,” Anders mumbled as he took his first bite.   
Erissa rolled her eyes at him but held up a letter, neatly folded at one point but now crumpled from taking residence in her pockets.  
“A business associate of Athenril has a job tonight,” Erissa informed him. “He wants to meet us tonight, when the market clears out.”  
“Sounds suspicious. What with you and Athenril apparently not parting on the best of terms,” Anders remarked between bites.  
He always ate fast and like he was starving. He probably was. He'd mentioned that Wardens needed a bit more food to burn through. And if what Erissa managed to scrape together wasn't enough for her appetite, one spoiled by eating on a Teyrn's coin, well, she was amazed Anders didn't bemoan hunger pains constantly.   
“She knows better,” Erissa assured him.   
She saw worry in Bethany's eyes. She hadn't quite known why Erissa had so eagerly cut contact with Athenril. Things had been going so well. She didn't ask,waiting for what incident had Erissa so certain the smuggler would never betray them. A revelation that would not come yet as Erissa turned on her heel.  
“Finish eating and meet in the market,” she called over her shoulder as she left. “I'm going to wake our beloved rogues.”  
Bethany grimaced, knowing what that would entitle, opting to remain with Anders. The Warden mage was inhaling the last crumbs of his meal, noticing last second that she was watching. He flushed a bit, embarrassed.  
“I know what it means to go hungry,” Bethany assured him. “It happened quite a lot after Erissa left home and Father was sick.”  
He gave her a weak smile.  
“You don't have to make me feel better,” he informed her. “But the effort is appreciated.”  
He cracked his knuckles, the sound loud in the empty room. The silence thickened around them, even the ruckus that usually filled Darktown unable to thin it.   
“You seem in a good mood today,” Bethany remarked. “A good dream then?”  
“I dreamed of a friend,” Anders admitted tentatively.  
He smiled, his mind drifting back to violet eyes that studied him with both suspicion and amusement. Of course, those eyes were in a lot of his dreams. He didn't want to focus too much on them lest they drudge up bitter sweet memories. Instead, he stood, clapping his hands, all noises out of place in his clinic.  
“Perhaps a lesson?” he decided. “Before any patients show up?”  
He knew the second her eyes lit up that that was enough of a distraction, at least for her. It took a lot more to distract him.

 

“Good morning, Aveline!”   
Erissa was in a suspiciously cheerful mood or so it sounded. Aveline faced her now, for that simple fact,ripping her attention away from the duty roaster, realizing in an instant that Erissa was soaked, reeking of ale, her armor clinging to her body.  
“Went to the Hanged Man already?” Aveline guessed.   
“To wake Varric and Isabela,” Erissa said in confirmation, probably to stave off accusations of drinking.   
“I take it they didn't appreciate your efforts”  
“And you'd be correct.”  
“Ingrates.”  
Erissa snorted in amusement, biting back her smile. She so rarely judged the lot of them, despite often having the upper hand in that case.  
“One of your fellows passed along a message,” she said, her voice dropping.  
She cast a glance around them, acknowledging the guards around them. Ah,the barracks. Guard force headquarters. And crawling with many who would indeed run and tattle if they heard Aveline bringing Erissa into guard business.   
“Something about you needing my help.”  
“Indeed I do,” Aveline confessed.   
“Excellent!” Erissa chirped. “Because I've got a bit of a request for you as well.”  
“Nothing illegal, I hope.”  
Aveline crossed her arms, glaring a bit in suspicion. Erissa sighed.   
“All I know is I'm meeting a contact tonight. A dwarf. If its illegal, I'll learn then,” Erissa admitted.  
“And you just expect me to go along? And if it is, you expect me to turn a blind eye?” Aveline demanded.  
“Don't compromise yourself but don't fault me for wanting my friends help.”  
Erissa crossed her arms, matching Aveline's stance. They held each others gaze for a good few passing seconds, ignorant of the odd looks the guards around them were throwing their way. After living together and realizing they were equally stubborn, Aveline well knew that such a stand off could go all day and so, certain her point had been adequately presented, she finally sighed.  
“I'll meet you in Lowtown,” she relented, turning back to the posted list of orders, still none to pleased but willing to concede for the present.   
Who knows? This job could be well within the legal confines. Many that Erissa took nowadays were. Erissa relaxed. To her credit she didn't look smug or triumphant, but grateful for Aveline's concession.   
“We can discuss the favor you want of me tonight,” Erissa replied, her words her bond.  
Then she turned to leave, their business done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For reference, Anders had a close friendship with the Hero of Ferelden that borders on familial. So no romantic tanglements.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. I've been sitting on this story for quite awhile, reasoning that I needed to write an Origins story for my Hero of Ferelden. And as much as I enjoy the story I have for my beloved Hero Queen, her story is just one I can't seem to sit down and type out sadly enough. Perhaps some day. Anyway, thanks again for reading and if you happen to leave a review, equally as many thanks as well! Please feel free to share!


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